Tears From a Star
by Xtremeroswellian
Summary: Alternate ending to "The Long Guns." It's all about the choices we make.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Tears From a Star (1/4)

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Email: X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allen Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I have no affiliation with whatsoever. No money is being made; please don't sue. 

Rating: R for language, violence and content. 

Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Long Guns." 

Summary: It's all about the choices we make.

Distribution: My site Only Time, 55-HQ, fanfiction.net, anywhere else that TW fics are archived. 

Category: Alternate ending for "The Long Guns." 

Subcategories: Angst, angst and more angst

Feedback: Please

Author's Note: All during the last 20 minutes of "Long Guns" I tried to figure out how it was going to end. This is one of the ending ideas I had. Oh, and originally this was going to be a one parter, but now I've come to the conclusion that there will be four all together.

* * *

"No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently." 

-Agnes de Mille

Tears From a Star (Part One: Denouement)

"Leave her outta this. Leave her outta this," Bosco kept repeating, shaking his head. 

A sick smile twisted Hobart's lips and he pressed the button on Bosco's police radio. "Boscorelli, you're a dead man. I'm gonna kill you with your own gun." He aimed and fired the gun towards the window, then threw the police radio across the room where it smashed into a mirror, shattering both machine and glass. "That oughta get her juices flowing." Hobart aimed the gun at Bosco's head again.

* * *

Faith's eyes widened as she heard the voice over her radio and a gunshot a second later. "Oh, God! Bosco!" She quickly radioed for backup and raced into the apartment building as one of the tenants left the building. 

She pulled the gun from its holster and took the steps two at a time, her heart pounding like the beat of a drum. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she deliberated whether to go right or left when she reached the third floor hallway. She wasn't sure why, but her instincts were urging her to the right. 

At the end of the corridor, a door was a crack. Every muscle in her body tense for a confrontation, she moved forward and pushed the door open. Faith pointed her gun at Hobart, who had a gun to Bosco's head. Relief washed over her. He didn't appear to be injured. 

Yet.

"Get outta here, Faith!" Bosco snapped without looking at her. 

"If you leave, I'll blow his head off," Hobart said calmly. 

"I've got it under control. Just go!" 

"I'm not going anywhewre," she said firmly. "We all just need to take a deep breath and stay calm, all right?" Faith could hear the wail of sirens off in the distance. 

"Do you always play by the rules, Officer Yokas?" Hobart asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. 

"No. The rules aren't always right," she responded, keeping her gun steadily trained on him just as he kept his trained on Bosco. 

"And who are you to decide if the rules are right or wrong?" he challenged. 

"I just go with my gut," Faith answered easily.

"And what's your gut telling you now?" 

"That you don't want to do this." There was a moment of silence and she could hear the sound of her own heart pounding. "Come on, Sergeant. Put the gun down and we can all walk away from this like it never happened." 

"She's right, man. Come on. You don't wanna hurt me," Bosco said, looking at Hobart. 

Faith glanced at her partner, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. "Okay, look. I'm gonna put my gun down very slowly, all right?" She fought against every instinct in her body as she slowly lowered her weapon. An internal battle waged within her; she wanted to gain Hobart's trust so she could get him to put down his gun, but at the same time, she was terrified that if she put her own gun down, Hobart may very well go ahead and kill Bosco and her both. She swallowed hard and set her weapon on the floor in front of her. She stood up again.

"Sergeant, put your gun down and we can all walk away from this all right," Bosco said. 

"You think things can be all right after this? Come on, Boscorelli, you're not that much of an idiot." 

"No, he's right. This doesn't have to end badly," Faith said quietly.

Hobart paused, squinted at her. "You're right about that, Officer Yokas. This doesn't have to end badly." 

For a split second she felt a surge of relief.

Hobart turned the gun on her. "But it's going to." 

Faith heard a loud explosion and she was suddenly propelled backwards and slammed into the wall. Her body, unable to stand any longer, slid down to the floor. 

The room was dark and blurry. But for a split second, she saw Bosco's horrifed expression and she thought she could hear him shouting. Then her eyes lost focus on his face as she plunged into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Faith!" Bosco shouted, overwhelming fear washing over him. He tried to see if his partner was still breathing, but he couldn't tell from where he was sitting on the floor. "Faith!"

"She can't hear you. She's unconscious," Hobart pointed out.

"You shot her," Bosco said in horrified disbelief.

"That's right, I did. You see, Boscorelli, life is all about choices. If you hadn't decided to come up here to play hero, your partner here wouldn't have followed you up. If she hadn't chosen to put her weapon down, I would've shot you instead of her. See how this works?" Hobart questioned.

"You didn't have to shoot anybody! This could have been fine!" 

"You're right. I didn't *have* to shoot your partner. But the fact is I did. Either you choose to sit around and cry about a past that can't be changed or you choose to do something to change the future." 

"What's the future?" Bosco demanded.

"That's up to you." Hobart shrugged and pointed his gun at Faith. "She could be dead already." 

He shook his head furiously in denial. "She's wearin' a vest." 

"Even kevlar has weak spots, Boscorelli," Hobart said pointedly.

He swallowed hard and looked over at the very still form of his partner. Then he looked back at the man who until that day, he'd looked up to as a mentor. "What the hell do you want from me?" 

"Do you suppose she'll live long if that bullet went through her vest? Or do you think she might be bleeding to death as we stand here talking?" 

"Let me call an ambulance," Bosco said, his heart racing.

"Nope. 'Fraid not." Hobart looked over at Faith. "It's fair payback, though, don't you think? Poetic justice? I mean, after all, she let you get shot, right? It's only fair that you let her get shot, too." 

"She didn't let me get shot! It was an accident!" 

Hobart chuckled. "Some partners you two are. While she's lying there bleeding to death on my floor, you're sitting there because you can't make a simple choice." 

"What choice? What fucking choice?" Bosco demanded, close to losing complete control over his emotions. 

Hobart aimed his gun at Faith again. "The choice of who lives and who dies." 

His stomach dropped as it suddenly dawned on him what this was about. "No way! No fucking way! You are not doing this to me!" 

"It's your choice, Boscorelli. Kill me and you have a shot of getting your partner out of here alive. Don't kill me and I'll make sure she dies real quick." 

"Why are you doing this?" Bosco whispered. 

"This is a gift I'm giving you, Bosocrelli. This is what you have to do if you want to be like me." Hobart sighed. "Time's running out. Three, two..." 

Without thinking about what he was doing, Bosco reached down and grabbed the gun that was strapped to his ankle. 

"One--" 

He didn't even hear the sound of his own gun going off when he pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on his face and Bosco felt the sudden urge to throw up. He shuddered as he saw Hobart's motionless body on the floor, his face pressed down in the carpet. 

He forced himself to look away and he quickly crawled over to his partner's side. "Faith? Faith, can you hear me?" His hands fumbled with the buttons on her shirt, which he quickly tore off, revealing the vest beneath it. He saw the spot where the bullet had entered and he swallowed hard. He quickly pulled the velcro apart and removed the vest. "Oh, God, no," he whispered as he saw blood soaking through the undershirt she was wearing from a wound below her right ribcage. "No, no, no." 

Bosco pressed his left hand onto the wound, praying the pressure would help stop the blood flow. With his free hand, he grabbed Faith's radio. "This is 55-David to Central. I need an ambulance to 2557 Grunsworth right now! Officer down!" He dropped the radio to the floor and pressed his fingers against Faith's wrist, feeling for a pulse. "Stay with me, Faith. Do you hear me? Stay with me," he said urgently.

Seconds ticked by, seeming to turn into an eternity. He picked up the radio again. "55-David to Central. Where the hell is that ambulance?" 

"Bus is on the way, 55-David. ETA is two minutes." 

Bosco pressed his other hand against Faith's wound to double the pressure. "Don't you die on me, Yokas." 

Davis and Sully rushed into the apartment, guns drawn. 

"She breathing?" Davis asked, putting his gun in its holster and kneeling down next to Bosco.

"Yeah, barely." 

"Hobart's dead," Sully said from behind him.

Bosco didn't reply. His gaze was locked on Faith's face. "Stay with me, Faith," he pleaded, his voice just above a whisper, tears pooling in his eyes. "Stay with me." 

"I'll go down and wait for the bus," Davis said quickly, hearing the siren in the distance. He stood up and rushed out the door.

"I'm sorry," Bosco said softly to his partner as two tears rolled down his cheeks. "I am so sorry." 

"In here," Davis said as he returned with Kim and Doc right behind him.

"Oh, man," Doc muttered. "Bosco, are you hurt?" 

"No...it's not my blood...just help her," he said, removing his hands from Faith's wound and backing away to allow Doc and Kim to work on her. "Is she gonna be all right?" 

"We're doing our best," Doc assured him.

"Give 'em room to work, Bosco," Davis said, pulling him farther back.

He stood frozen, watching as Kim and Doc tried to save his partner's life.

"Let's move her. On my count," Doc said. "One, two, three." They carefully moved Faith onto the stretcher and lifted her.

"Angel of Mercy?" Davis asked.

"Yeah," Kim agreed.

"We'll meet you there," he said, glancing at Bosco.

After Doc and Kim had carried Faith out of the apartment, Sully placed a hand on Bosco's shoulder. "What happened here?" 

Bosco looked down at his hands, still slippery with Faith's blood. Tears blurred his eyes and he made no move to either banish or hide them. "I made a choice," he whispered.


	2. Wreckage

Title: Tears From a Star (2/4)

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Email: X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allen Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I have no affiliation with whatsoever. No money is being made; please don't sue. 

Rating: R for language, violence and content. 

Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Long Guns." 

Summary: It's all about the choices we make.

Distribution: My site Only Time, 55-HQ, fanfiction.net, anywhere else that TW fics are archived. 

Category: Alternate ending for "The Long Guns." 

Subcategories: Angst, angst and more angst

Feedback: Please

Author's Note: All during the last 20 minutes of "Long Guns" I tried to figure out how it was going to end. This is one of the ending ideas I had. Oh, and originally this was going to be a one parter, but now I've come to the conclusion that there will be four all together.

* * *

"Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices." 

-Alfred A. Montapert

Tears From a Star (Part Two: Wreckage)

I killed him.

I've taken a life before--one other time, a couple years back. Some scumbag that would have killed me or Faith or Davis or Sully or anyone who had gotten in his path if he'd have had the chance to kill them. I didn't feel bad about it. Not really. The only reason it bothered me at all was because it upset Faith. I still remember her words. "You let a man die today," she told me later. I didn't understand why she was upset. I didn't have a reason to feel guilty. The guy was a lowlife nobody who tried to kill us. He didn't deserve to live. I did the world a favor. 

But this?

This is different. This isn't even -comparable- to that.

I killed a man, who for as long as I can remember, I looked up to. I wanted to be just like him. He was a good cop, a good man. Until one day it just got to be too much and he snapped. 

I keep wondering what I could have done differently. What I should have said or done that would have changed the final outcome. I don't know what it would have been. But maybe one of these days I'll be sitting here on my couch and the answer will hit me. Not that it really matters. 

It's like Hobart said; you can't change the past, but you can change the course of the future with the decisions you make today.

I've come to realize that I don't want to be like Hobart after all. I don't want to end up like he did. But I can't help thinking it's inevitable anyway. I mean, look at me; look at my life. I'm pretty fucked up already. Everyone thinks so.

I've spent my entire life trying to do the right thing. I've tried to help people by chasing after the bad guys and keeping them from hurting innocent people. But the harder I try, the longer I chase, the more futile it all seems. There are too many of them. I'm just not seeing the point anymore. Really, how much difference have I made? How many people have I -actually- helped? 

Ma once told me I was a good man. She's not speaking to me anymore. Not after I arrested Mikey for running dope. It's not like I -wanted- to arrest him. He's my kid brother. I love him. But what other choice did I have? Part of me hoped that a little jail time would help him straighten his life out, get turned around, do the right thing for a change. So maybe one of us wasn't a loser. But as it turns out, he's just another Boscorelli fuck-up. 

I can't help him. If I can't even help my own brother, my own flesh and blood, how am I supposed to help anyone?

And how many people have I helped to get hurt?

Like that girl a few weeks ago...Shaquana. I let her get raped because I thought she was a hooker. I could have stopped that bastard from hurting her if I'd have just taken the time to -see- what was really happening. Instead, I assumed I already knew what was happening.

How many times did I let my dad hurt my mom? I should never have believed him, I should never have let him back in our house. But I did. Time after time. I never learned. I never protected her.

I thought I could help Hobart. I thought maybe I could actually help someone I cared about for a change. Instead, I killed him.

And then there's Faith.

I don't know what's happened between us. We were partners, and I always thought of us as friends. She knows more about me than anybody. And she's never walked away from me. Sure, she's gotten annoyed and even pissed off at me more times than I can count, but, shit. What do you expect? We spend most of our time together trapped in a damned squad car. But I've always assumed that she knew I was there for her. I've told her as much, more than once.

But she didn't tell me she was sick. She has cancer and she didn't tell me; not until she felt like she had to. Not until she felt guilty because she was too sick to back me up and I wound up getting shot because of it.

I don't blame her for that; I really don't. I knew she was sick. She had practically begged me to go back to the station house because she wasn't feeling well.

But I didn't listen. It was my mistake. I saw she wasn't feeling well; I heard her saying she was too sick to chase the suspect, but I didn't listen. At least that time it was only me who got hurt.

When she told me she had cancer, I was shocked, hurt, and angry. I didn't understand at the time why she hadn't told me sooner. But I get it now. It's because there's something wrong with -me.- I look at a person and only see what's visible on the outside. I hear the words that someone says but I don't take the time to -listen- to what's behind them. Not until it's too late.

I mean, looking back over these last few months, I realize she had been acting differently all along. Quieter, more distracted. I did ask her about it a couple times, but she'd just shrugged it off and said she was fine. And I had believed her.

God, how stupid am I, anyway? Everything about her was screaming that something wasn't right, but I just chalked it up to mood swings. It's no wonder she didn't want to tell me. She probably thought I wouldn't even care.

I do care. When I'm totally honest with myself, I can admit that Faith's been the one and only stable person in my life--ever. She's always been there when I needed her. And the very thought that she might die--because of cancer or a bullet or any number of other things--terrifies me. It scares me to think that in an instant the only person who really -knows- me could be gone.

She almost was.

And you know what the worst part of it is? 

The worst part of it is that it would have been my fault. 

She wouldn't have been there at all if it weren't for me. If I hadn't 'tried to play hero' that day as Hobart called it, she wouldn't have even been there to get shot in the first place.

The doctors said she was going to be fine. It would take her awhile to recover, but she would be all right.

It's been six days.

I haven't left my apartment since I got home that night. Sully, Davis, Doc and Kim--they've all called and left messages on my machine, and even tried to come by a few times. Hell, Jimmy Dohrety even called a couple times, and that guy can't stand me.

It's been six days since Hobart told me I had to make a choice.

Six days since I killed him, and nearly got my partner killed. 

It's been six days and I can still feel their blood on my hands.

Hobart told me that night that he should just shoot me before I screwed up the lives of everyone who loves me. Little did he know he was already too late for that.

But he also said I had the choice to alter the course of the future. And that's what I'm going to do. No one I care about is ever going to get hurt because of me again. 

Because I quit.


	3. Without Condition

Title: Tears From a Star (3/4)

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Email: X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allen Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I have no affiliation with whatsoever. No money is being made; please don't sue. 

Rating: R for language, violence and content. 

Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Long Guns." 

Summary: It's all about the choices we make.

Distribution: My site Only Time, 55-HQ, fanfiction.net, anywhere else that TW fics are archived. 

Category: Alternate ending for "The Long Guns." 

Subcategories: Angst, angst and more angst

Feedback: Please

Author's Note: I read a book called Breaking and Entering: Women Cops Talk About Life in the Ultimate Men's Club by Connie Fletcher. It's a fascinating book that I recommend to anyone interested in police work, specifically if you're a female. Anyhoo, that's where I got a lot of ideas for this part. 

Dedication: This part goes out to Dem, for listening to me babble about not knowing how to start it. :) Thanks!

* * *

"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around."

-Leo Buscaglia

Tears From a Star (Part Three: Without Condition)

"Mrs. Yokas, I have to state again that you're not fully recovered and that signing out AMA frees the hospital and the staff from any responsibility should your condition worsen when you leave." 

"I know that. Where do I sign?" 

* * *

I hate hospitals.

I think most people do. I mean, who *likes* to be unable to do anything besides lie in a hospital bed with a needle stuck in your hand whilst a doctor or nurse comes in every ten minutes to wake you up if you've managed to fall asleep?

Nobody.

You know how they say that doctors make the worst patients? Well, after doctors, it's cops. We're used to being active--chasing down perps, making arrests, helping those in need...but it's not just the inactivity that makes us bad patients.

There's this unspoken rule when you become a cop: never let your weakness show. Especially not if you're a woman officer.

See, women cops already take flack for being cops--just because of our gender. We're told we're too emotional, that we're not physically strong enough to do the job, that it's a man's profession. If you're a woman and you want to be a cop, you've really got to be able to put up with the remarks and the harassment and the mind games that you're going to be put through. Because you *will* be put through it. And either you deal with it and prove 'em all wrong, or you quit.

That's just how it is.

I didn't have it easy when I joined the academy.

Fred and I had only been married for four years. Emily was just starting kindergarten and Charlie had just discovered he could climb out of his crib if he didn't want to take a nap. I'd already had two years of college--I'd gotten through that much schooling before I had Em. But I didn't know what I wanted to do with it. 

Not long after Charlie was born, one of our neighbors--Mr. Walker--was murdered in his apartment. The police determined that it was a robbery gone bad. All the guy got was thirty bucks and an antique watch. For that, Mr. Walker lost his life. They never caught the guy who killed him.

That's when I decided I wanted to be a cop. I thought maybe I could do some good in this world, help people out, make it safer for my kids, you know? 

I applied and was hired by the 55th precinct. They paid for all of my tuition and training, so I didn't have to worry about coming up with the money since Fred was out of a job. 

When I walked into the classroom at the academy for the first time, I knew I was in trouble. There was only one other woman there--and there were probably 75 people all together. The men just stared at us like we were different lifeforms. 

For the first couple weeks, Shawna and I stuck together. The guys--at least the majority of them--didn't want anything to do with us. And the ones who did, did so only in an attempt to get rid of us. 

It worked. Shawna quit after the third week. 

I, however, wasn't going to be scared off so easily.

Even the instructors did their best to get to me. Either they would ignore me completely or they would pick on me and make sexist jokes and remarks. 

I ignored it. I was determined to become a police officer no matter what. 

I sat by myself at lunch every day, eating and studying while all the guys ate together, laughing and joking.

All of them except one.

There was one guy in the class who sat at a table by himself, too.

I had noticed him before, mainly because he neither went out of his way to ignore me, nor did he ridicule me for being there. 

His name was Maurice Boscorelli.

* * *

I stand outside, shivering from the chilly January wind, hoping my husband doesn't get too upset with me for what I'm about to do. 

A taxi pulls up to the curb and the driver rolls the window down. "You call for a cab?" 

"Yeah, I did," I tell him as I reach for the door handle.

"Where to?" he asks as I climb carefully into the backseat, my hand covering the spot beneath my ribs. 

"57th North Water," I say softly, leaning back against the seat. I turn and stare out the window.

* * *

Believe it or not, Bosco approached me first.

We'd been at the academy for four and a half, maybe five weeks. 

And then one day at lunch time, I looked up and saw him standing by my table, lunch tray in hand. "This seat taken?" he asked.

"You see anybody sittin' there?" I retorted.

"Nope." Without another word, he sat down right across from me. 

Truthfully, I was a bit cold to him. And more than a little bit suspicious that he had been sent by the other guys to torment me somehow. We didn't talk much that first day. Or the second day.

On the third day that he sat down with me at lunch, I nodded towards the tables where everyone else was sitting. "If you keep sitting with me, you're gonna be ostracized." 

Bosco shrugged. "What do I care? Bunch of losers anyway, if you ask me." He took a drink of his soda. "They think they're so cool, tryin' to be bad ass cops without doing any of the damned work. Half these jack-offs won't even make it through physical training." He paused and looked at me. "You will, though." 

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure?" 

He shrugged again. "After everything these idiots have put you through, you're still here. That means something. I don't have you figured as a quitter." 

It was shortly after that conversation that the two of us discovered we'd been hired by the same police precinct. That fact made us stick together even more. We started training together, studying together, and sitting together during classes. 

Don't think Boz wasn't ridiculed for hanging around the only female in class. For awhile they were almost as hard on him as they were on me. But he never seemed to care--he gave 'em hell right back. He's never been the type of person who'd turn away from a friend so he could be part of the 'in' crowd. And by that time--that's what we were, friends.

Not best friends, mind you. That didn't come til later. But we'd held a mutual respect for one another that had blossomed into a friendship. 

Things eventually did get better. Once I'd proven I could hold my own in the physical aspects of the training--the obstacle courses, the wall, and defensive tactics--then the other guys began to back off and tolerate my presence. But after everything that had happened, Bosco's the only one from the academy that I consider to be a close friend. 

Boz and I graduated from the police academy a few months later at the top of our class.

* * *

"Strange weather we're having, eh?" the cab driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"Yep," I answer, wincing as he drives over a pot hole and a stabbing pain below my ribcage reminds me that I'm far from healed. 

I bite my lip, knowing that despite the fact that I was shot, I'll heal much faster than my partner will.

* * *

Bosco and I have been partners since our second week on the job. They didn't put us together right away because they didn't want two rookies working together. 

I was partnered with Officer Bob Cartwright, and Bosco was paired up with Sully. 

Let's just say that there was a definite personality clash with that pairing. 

And with every other partner they had him work with that first week. 

The lieutenants were at their wits end by the time that week was over, and they were talking about transferring him to another precinct since he didn't seem to get along with anyone. But transferring him would have made the 55th an officer short, and they didn't want that, either. 

Pairing the two of us up was their last resort. 

Lieutenant Matthews pulled me aside that Friday afternoon and asked me if I minded working with Bosco. He quickly assured me that he would understand if I didn't want to--by then everyone in the precinct had heard that Officer Boscorelli was not the easiest person to get along with. What Lt. Matthews didn't know was that I already knew Bosco. I quickly agreed to the request. 

I was relieved. 

It's not that Officer Cartwright was a bad guy. He just didn't seem to think I could handle the job. 

So the Monday after that, Bosco and I started the first day of our partnership. We've been together ever since. 

I'm not going to say that it's been all roses and sunshine; Boz and I have had our fair share of problems.

But I would never trust another partner even *half* as much as I do Bosco.

* * *

"Stop right here," I tell the cab driver as he pulls up in front of the apartment building on North Water Street. 

He does as told and parks the car at the curb. "That's $8.23." 

I nod and remove the money from the pocket of my knapsack and hand it to him. "Thanks." I reach for the door handle.

"You want I should wait?" 

"No. I'll be in there awhile," I respond as I carefully slide out of the backseat. I close the door behind me and watch as the cab speeds away. 

Then I take a deep breath and turn to look at the building.

* * *

Fred never has liked Bosco. He's told me more than once he thinks Boz is a smart-ass, loud-mouth jerk. 

I never used to let it get to me when he talked about my partner that way. The truth is, Bosco *can* be a jerk. 

But lately whenever Fred says something like that, I get this urge to smack him upside the head. Because despite the fact that Fred's known Bosco almost ten years, he doesn't *know* the first thing about my partner.

He has no idea what Boz's life has been like. He has no idea all the crap he's been through.

Honestly? Even if he did, I'm not sure he'd care. It's not that Fred's a bad guy...it's just that for him, it boils down to the fact that I spend the majority of my time with Bosco.

He's jealous. I'm not stupid; I see it in his face every time Boz is around or someone merely mentions his name.

But there's nothing I can do about that. 

Not too long ago I told Fred I wouldn't turn my back on Bosco, and I meant it. I won't, ever. 

Not even when he tries to close me out.

Sully told me last night that everyone at the precinct, and even Doc, Kim and Jimmy--had been trying to call and stop by Bosco's apartment for the past six days to no avail. He's holed himself up in there and won't come out to talk to anyone. 

Fred's ticked because first of all, he blames Bosco for me getting shot, and secondly, because Bosco didn't come to see me in the hospital. 

"Yeah, some great partner you've got," he muttered last night as I pushed away the tray of (and I use this term loosely) food the staff had brought me for dinner. 

"It's not his fault," I said quietly.

"He should have backed you up." 

"He did. I put my gun down," I pointed out.

Fred shook his head. "If he's such a great friend, where the hell is he? Huh, Faith? Why hasn't he been here to see how you were?" When I didn't respond immediately, he snapped, "I'll tell you why. He's a selfish bastard!" 

"Don't say that. You don't know him," I said sharply.

"I know you've been in the hospital with a gunshot wound for almost a week and he hasn't been here once!" 

"Just shut up, all right?" By that time my head was starting to hurt. 

"Why do you always jump to his defense? Why do you care so damned much?" 

"Because he's my partner, Fred. He's my friend. And if you really care about me and respect me, you'll stop talking about him that way. I know you don't like Bosco. You don't have to. But don't act like you expect me to choose between the two of you. Because I won't." 

After I said that, Fred muttered something about coffee and left the room. I was glad he'd gone; I needed to be alone anyway. I needed time to think about what I had to do. And lying there in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I made my decision. 

See, what Fred doesn't understand is that when you love somebody, really love somebody--it's unconditional. 

They can mess up, hurt you, hurt themselves--it doesn't make you stop loving them.

That's how I feel about Bosco. I love him. Without condition.

It's not the same kind of love I feel for Fred, but it's still love. And I would do anything for him. 

Which is why I'm standing here outside his apartment door. He wouldn't let anyone in--not Sully or Davis or Kim or Doc or anyone.

But I know my partner. 

And right now? Right now I'm the only person he won't be able to turn away.

I take a deep breath and knock on his door.


	4. Catharsis

Title: Tears From a Star (4/4)

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Email: X_tremeroswellian@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allen Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I have no affiliation with whatsoever. No money is being made; please don't sue. Song is "Fragile" by Sting.

Rating: R for language, violence and content. 

Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Long Guns." 

Summary: It's all about the choices we make.

Distribution: My site Only Time, 55-HQ, fanfiction.net, anywhere else that TW fics are archived. 

Category: Alternate ending for "The Long Guns." 

Subcategories: Angst, angst and more angst

Feedback: Please

Dedication: This part is for Jess, who begged me for the next part. And also for Dem, for helping me out with it. 

* * *

"Perhaps our eyes need to be washed by our tears once in a while, so that we can see life with a clearer view again." 

-Alex Tan

Tears From a Star (Part 4: Catharsis)

Someone was knocking on his door again.

Didn't they understand he didn't want to talk to them?

Didn't they understand he just wanted to be left alone?

He made no move to answer the door; he knew if he ignored whoever it was long enough, they'd eventually give up and go away. They always did. 

"Bosco?" 

He jerked his head to stare in shock at the front door. 

"Boz, it's me," he heard his partner call. "I know you're in there, so just open the door, all right?" 

He remained motionless, paralyzed on the couch by his own fears and uncertainty. He couldn't face her; not yet. He wasn't ready.

"I'm not leaving, Bosco. So either you let me in or I'll stand out here all day and yell through the door." 

There was no doubt in his mind that she meant it. 

Swallowing hard, Bosco slowly got to his feet and moved toward the door. "I'm all right. I just don't feel like talking, okay?" he said through the door, his voice rough from lack of use. He hoped she would just go away.

"No, it's not okay." 

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wall. 

"Bosco, I need to talk to you. And I don't really wanna have this conversation with a door between us, all right?" Her voice softened and there was a hint of pleading to it. "Boz, please. Let me in?" 

He wanted her to leave; didn't want her to see what he'd been reduced to. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her to get lost. Guilt washed over him. He owed it to her to at least hear what she had to say. 

Bosco reached up and turned the lock. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door. 

* * *

Faith stared at him. He stared back at her, a mixture of emotions clouding his eyes. His face was pale; he hadn't shaved in at least two or three days. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. 

"You're pale," he said, his voice rough. 

"So are you," she replied softly. "Can I come in?" 

Bosco seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he stepped aside to let her in.

Faith glanced around. His normally neat apartment looked like it had been ransacked. Photograph albums and pictures were strewn across the kitchen table and a few had fallen on the floor. The remains of what she suspected was once a coffee mug lay shattered on the floor; a dark spot stained the wall above it. Empty plates, dirty bowls and glasses were set all around.

"Oh, Bosco," she said under her breath, a deep sadness tugging at her heart. She turned to face him.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but I don't really...have anything," he told her, his eyes downcast. 

"It's okay," Faith assured him. "Can we sit down?"

Bosco glanced at her for a second, a startled look on his face. "Yeah, sorry, I should have..." His voice trailed off and he motioned her to the couch. "How are you feeling?" 

Faith sat down and patted the seat next to her. "I'm good." 

He sat down beside her, his eyes now locked on her face. "Really?" 

She met his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, the doctor said I was healing pretty quickly. Should be back to normal before you know it." 

Bosco nodded slowly, but she could still see uncertainty in his eyes. 

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I'm all right, Boz," she said softly. "I promise." 

He released the breath he'd been holding and ran a hand through his hair. "Right. Good." There was a moment of silence. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't come see you, I just--" He shook his head and looked away. 

"I know. It's okay." 

"No, it's not." 

Faith studied him. Now he was refusing to look at her. "Bosco?" 

He took a deep breath. "I'm quitting, Faith. I'm done being a cop." 

* * *

"I know. It's okay," she assured him. 

"No, it's not," Bosco answered. It wasn't okay; it would never be okay again.

Faith was staring at him. He could feel it, but he couldn't force himself to turn and meet her gaze. "Bosco?" 

He took a deep breath. He had to tell her. It was now or never. "I'm quitting, Faith. I'm done being a cop." 

"You know I'm not gonna let you do that, right?" she replied without hesitation.

"Faith--" 

"Look at me, Bosco." 

He couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt her move, and a moment later, she sat down on the coffee table right in front of him.

"You can't quit, Bosco. It's not who you are." 

"Oh, yeah? Who the hell am I, then? Huh, Faith?" he demanded. 

She simply looked at him, calm confidence and determination reflecting in her green eyes; she remained silent. 

"I'll tell you who I am. I'm a fuck-up." 

"No." 

"I'm a god-damned fuck-up just like my father. Just like Mikey. I hurt people. That's all I know how to do. It's the only thing I'm good at." 

"Bosco--" 

"Hobart was right. All I do is mess up everyone I care about." 

Faith shook her head. "Bosco, Hobart was a sick man, all right? You can't place value on anything he may have said to you." 

"But he was right, Faith. Don't you get it? Don't you see? Everything I touch falls apart." 

* * *

Faith stared at him, her heart breaking for him. "Things fall apart, Bosco. It's not your fault. It just happens. I don't know the reasons. But sometimes...sometimes things fall apart because they need to be rebuilt. So they can be better, stronger. Nobody's got control over how or when it happens. But when they do fault apart, you can runaway and hide, or you can help rebuild them. That's all anyone can do." 

"I killed him. Right there in his own apartment. I didn't even...I didn't even think about it. I just...shot him, Faith," he whispered. 

"To save me. You did it to save me," she reminded him gently.

"I couldn't let him--he was going to--" Bosco's voice cracked. 

"I know, Bosco." 

"You were laying on the floor and...there was...blood...so much blood...everywhere...and I tried to get you to wake up, but...you were so pale." He lifted his head to look at her. Unshed tears shone in his weary eyes. "And I thought--I thought you were going to die. And it was my fault. If you had died, it would have been my fault..." 

Faith ignored the urge to cut him off and assure him that it wasn't his fault and that everything was going to be all right. But as badly as she wanted to tell him those things, she knew it was more important for him to get all of the thoughts and feelings he'd bottled up inside out. He needed this, and so did she. Catharsis.

"And I just kept thinkin' that if you died...I'd never get to say how sorry I was...for all the crap I've put you through. For all the times I never listened to you when you were talking...or even when you weren't. I'm sorry I let you down. That I didn't protect you."

Faith felt as though he'd kicked her in the stomach. Her own eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Boz...you never let me down. You've always been there for me when I've let you be." She looked down. "If anything, I'm the one who owes you an apology." 

He stared at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?" 

She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him. "I'm talking about why I waited so long to tell you about my cancer." 

"Faith, I know that--" 

"No, Bosco. You don't. The reason I didn't tell you...it wasn't because I didn't think you'd be there for me. It's because--I was scared. Scared that I was gonna die. Fred wasn't dealing with it very well and every time I was around him...it was like there was this thick black cloud hanging over our heads. I couldn't wait to go to work just so I could have something else to think about, something normal. Part of me wanted to tell you the truth, Bosco. But the rest of me...I just needed everything to be normal between us so I didn't go completely crazy. You were the one person I could depend on to be the same. You were my rock, Boz...and you didn't even know it." 

They stared at each other for a long time.

"It's been a rough few months. For both of us," Faith said, her voice quieter. "But I can't...give up. I can't runaway and hide. I need to help rebuild. And I don't know if I can do that without you." 

Bosco looked away, stared out the window. "How can you ever trust me again? I let you get shot." A single tear slid down his cheek.

Faith swallowed hard and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her again. Their eyes locked and another tear slid down her partner's face and dripped onto her hand. "I love you, Bosco," she said softly. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. "I'll never trust anyone else the way I do you. It's not your fault." 

* * *

"I let you get shot," he said, looking away. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, but made no move to wipe it away. 

A second later, he felt her hands on his face, and he found himself staring at her again. Her eyes were full of warmth and sympathy and concern...for him. He felt another tear slide down his cheek. How had he ever gotten so lucky to have her in his life? He knew he certainly didn't deserve her. 

Faith was looking at him intensely. "I love you, Bosco," she whispered. Bosco felt his breath catch in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut tight as she pressed her lips to his forehead and kissed him there. "I'll never trust anyone else the way I do you. It's not your fault." 

Bosco wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, hugging her close, but not too tightly, remembering that she'd been shot less than a week ago. He buried his face in her shoulder, in her hair, taking the comfort she offered. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling horror wash over him as he realized he had sobbed the words. 

Faith rubbed his back. "Everything's going to be all right," she promised. "We're gonna be all right, Boz." 

He remained silent. And prayed to God that she was right.

The End

If blood will flow  
When flesh and steel are one  
Drying in the color   
Of the evening sun  
Tomorrow's rain will   
Wash the stains away  
But something in our minds  
Will always stay  
  
Perhaps this final act  
Was meant to clinch  
A lifetime's argument  
That nothing comes   
From violence  
And nothing ever could  
For all those born  
Beneath an angry star  
Lest we forget  
How fragile we are  
  
On and on the rain will fall  
Like tears from a star  
Like tears from a star  
On and on the rain will say  
How fragile we are  
  
On and on the rain will fall  
Like tears from a star  
Like tears from a star  
On and on the rain will say  
How fragile we are  



End file.
